


The Very Last Time Sméagol Was Alone

by blueleaf_les



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Murder, The One Ring is Bad News, Tolkien Gen Week - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25166434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueleaf_les/pseuds/blueleaf_les
Summary: Smeagol earns weregild for the death of his friend Deagol. What it was exactly it is for the reader to discover.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Tolkien Gen Week 2020





	The Very Last Time Sméagol Was Alone

**Author's Note:**

> before reading this piece it’d be profitable to know what ‘weregild’ is: in other words, ‘man price’ or ‘blood money’ - a treasure that had to be paid by the murderer to the family of the murdered as a compensation for the ended life or other harm. this practise was important for the Germanic cultures, including the Anglo-Saxon tribes.  
>  the careful reader might remember that the idea of weregild is actually present and very relevant in LOTR; i’ll put the passage in end notes for you to check later if you want (this is the only depth of this ff so i want to stress it XD)  
> i was inspired by the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PgJyMOeuNPQ that plays at the ending of the “Two Towers” by Peter Jackson.   
> this story was written for day 4 of Tolkien Gen Week (theme: solo). the prompts had to be twisted for the purpose of what i wanted to convey, but it still fits the major premise of a character being alone - even though the scene does not present the habit or a ‘favourite hobby’, it does allude to a struggle Smeagol went through.

______  
One heart was beating violently when the other one stopped, and it took Smeagol fearfully long to gather that Deagol was dead forever. 

Deagol’s body was lying on the bank, close to the special stone that used to be his fishing seat, between the wood shrubs with long thorns. It was there, and it was dead. Mortally greyish when it was always red with bodily strength, dreadfully still and stiff, although just a moment ago it was livid with rage. Smeagol looked and didn’t see, and even if he saw - he didn’t believe. That Deagol could lose his usual, mild air, that his face could shrink in an expression of fury, that he could stop breathing - this could not have happened, and it was a fact that he could not have his throat held tight in a murderous clasp of two hands. 

Murdered. Murdered! Deagol was murdered! Smeagol was slowly regaining his senses that left him when he first saw a golden circlet - - he smelt the mule from the deeps of the river - he tasted blood - he perceived his hands grappling a neck - he felt the grip of his very own fingers on the cold skin - - and his heart’s pace accelerated, his breath went wild, and he heard - instead of the strong pulse in his eyes that muted every other sound - himself screaming.

He withdrew his hands, but the print of his fingers was still visible and he knew that his palms will always fit this pattern. The forest, the stones and the river echoed his howl. 

‘Deagol!’

The vowels lasted eternally. 

‘What have you done!’

He turned his back. Not looking, he still saw the shape of hands over a neck. Closing his eyes, he still saw it: a red lineament on the background of horrid Shade. 

‘Murderer!’

He curled on the wet ground and wept uncontrollably. Murderer, murderer. 

‘What have you done, Smeagol, what have you done?!’

He’d never hear Deagol’s voice again, and he felt so alone, not being able to understand why Deagol suffered himself to be killed, why he’s allowed for that, Deagol, Deagol, why have you done that? There would be no answer. He knew. 

Alone. Alone. Alone.   
Why.   
Alone. Alone. Alone.   
Why -   
What if not alone, what if anyone hears, the others will know, family will throw a curse, community will expel and he will suffer further. 

The thing Smeagol always feared most was loneliness. Even pain he could bear (he was used to it), but not loneliness. He was afraid to be on his own, and he didn’t understand - he simply couldn’t get to know, couldn’t think of any possible explanation of why he was now kneeling over Deagol’s dead body, wet with sludge, cold with death, stiff and empty, why he was seeing his throttled neck and knowing that it happened because of him - - holding his clinched hand. And suddenly he remembered. Weeping misspent, his breath slowed down and his heart calmed. Smeagol remembered the golden circlet. 

The Ring. 

The Ring promised. There will be no fear. No more hunger. No more exhaustion in search of food or shelter or protection from violence and hatred towards poor Smeagol. There will be no harm. No pain. No chiding. Instead, there will be strength, there will be plenty, there will be courage and there will power. Yes, the Ring promised with its golden, precious glow. And especially - there will be no loneliness. 

Everyone will like him, not just Deagol, who was never good, really. Everyone will like him, everyone will have to like the Master. The Master - - of the Ring. And he will be the precious. No one else. He’ll be precious. It was just a reach of hand, of a hand that did much more gore than just that - stealing, whose contour was visibly flaring on a neck. Just a neck. 

How could a Ring make you do this? - - No. You did this. You did this, alone. It was your decision. It was your deed. Murderer. You murdered him. Murderer. Murderer!

And the reward is yours, Smeagol. This is the weregild for your friend. Deagol was murdered because he didn’t want to give Smeagol a birthday present, when he should have; so Smeagol lost his dear friend and now it is just that he can be repaid, and also get the birthday present at the same time. Yes. No stealth: weregild, birthday present. Smeagol was claiming what was rightfully, logically his own from the very beginning.

Stretching his hand, Smeagol didn’t know what he’d get. 

The Ring, yes. But also the lineation of fingers on neck. That was what would always accompany him, from now on, wherever he went. Both the power and protection, yes, but also flaw and distrust. Loneliness - no, NO! 

Smeagol tried to unfold Deagol’s fingers. Taking his hand from the grass, he he felt how unlikely heavy and limp it was, and it made him shiver. That’s how his enemies will end. He thought of how he’ll be able to take revenge on everyone, when the Ring gives him all. Deagol’s hand wouldn’t open, as if the murdered wanted to keep the weregild for himself, so Smeagol had no choice but to start tearing the dead fingers. He bit them and cursed them, feeling the urge to check if the Ring can give all that had been promised. 

What if it can’t?! Would all that be for nothing?! Cheated on again?! 

Smeagol heard, felt and saw how Deagol’s fingers crushed, one by one, under the grasp of two hands that were stronger, and teeth that have always been sharp. The rush overwhelmed him. A mutilated four-fingered hand fell to the grass, when Smeagol laid a golden circlet on his palm. 

No. Not cheated. He was alone no more. He felt someone’s presence, he felt watched - - there was someone who knew what happened, someone who knew that Smeagol was a murderer - - no, NO! Smeagol wanted protection, and he put the Ring on his finger. 

He was not cheated. He’d now never be alone.  
___

**Author's Note:**

> the idea of ‘weregild’ is crucial for the first war of the Ring. in the chapter “The Council of Elrond”, when Boromir and Elrond discuss the part of the story of the Ring that was bound to Gondorian leaders, they come to Isildur’s decision of claiming the Ring to himself instead of destroying it altogether at once:   
> ‘Isildur took it, as should not have been. It should have been cast then into Orodruin’s fire nigh at hand where it was made. But few marked what Isildur did. He alone stood by his father in that last mortal contest; and by Gil-Galad only Cirdan stood, and I. But Isildur would not listen to our counsel.   
> ‘ “This I will have as weregild for my father, and my brother,”, he said; and therefore whether we would or no, he took it to treasure it.’  
> thank you for reading this - if you have any questionses i’d love to ansswer them in the comments, precoiusss.


End file.
